


The Music of the Water

by Melanie_Athene



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-12
Updated: 2011-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:32:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One rainy night...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Music of the Water

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Waymeet's "Location Challenge" (March 2006)

It is the rain that draws me from my sleep: a rhythmic pit-pat of tiny droplets striking half-opened shutters; a heavier drumming, like a heartbeat, upon the roof. A cheeky breeze stirs the curtains, and they flutter like giant moth wings against the backdrop of a still dark windowpane. Naught else but the rain is stirring as springtime creeps into my bedchamber. I am enveloped by the scent of good, rich soil and the fragrance of the flowers. The warm, sweet breath of the slowly waking Shire stirs a strange longing in my breast.

Overwhelmed, I close my eyes and listen to the music of the water. I have heard this melody before. It is a siren's call, like elvish singing: all silvery, liquid notes in perfect harmony. But, tonight, I have no urge to follow the will-o’-the-wisp sound. Tonight, I feel it as a lullaby, inviting me back into the realm of dreams. And properly so. It's far too early to stir and make a fire. Nor is it necessary; the faint glow of the dying coals is warmth enough when one lies snuggled beneath a pile of generous bedcovers. And my stomach tells me that first breakfast is yet some hours away.

Nothing calls me from my bed. No rowdy cousins pounding on my door, back from some drunken revel. No gruff demands from wizards that I take to the road and seek adventure. No menacing orcs. No fierce Black Riders...

I smile. The days of cold and bitter darkness are behind me. There is no fear, no danger in these gentle pre-dawn shadows. _I am safe. All is well._ I silently chant the words like a mantra. Perhaps, with enough repetition, they will become true.

The steadfast rumble of Sam's deep, even breathing comes from the pillow next to mine. Lulled by the familiar sound, I drift back asleep, trusting that peaceful dreams will find me.

But the ghosts of other rainstorms are determined to haunt my memories...

_...I feel the harsh, pelting blasts that dogged my footsteps on the road to Bree. Icy fingers of fear and desperation run up and down my spine..._

_...I feel an acid burn upon my skin as I stumble across the wasteland that is Mordor, blinded by the weeping sky and my own tears..._

A clap of thunder like a troll's roar shakes me from a restless slumber. This time, when my eyes open, I am totally disoriented. The room is filled with leering shadows. It could be any hour – this could be any chamber! Cirith Ungol! I am trapped in that evil tower! There is no softness of a bed, it was all a trick of the imagination! My arms are painfully twisted and tied behind me. I am naked, bruised, alone...

_Lost, lost, lost!_

The words flutter in my mind as my heart stutters in my breast. I feel a moan rise up in my throat, a thin wail of despair that swiftly rises to a piercing scream.

But no matter how dark the night, no matter how deep my fear, I would recognize the arms that wrap themselves around me anywhere.

“Sam,” I weep, burying my face in the safe haven of his warm, broad shoulder. “Sam... Sam...”

“Shh... Shh, love. I've got you.” Firm lips caress my neck, slide across to patter on my wet face. Gentle hands untangle me from the knotted sheets that hold me prisoner and carefully help me stand.

I rest a trembling hand against his cheek: four stark, white fingers in striking contrast with his sun-kissed flesh. My crippled ugliness against his smooth perfection. The taint of the Ring still lingers in my veins. It will never set me free.

“S-Sam...” I whisper.

“Come back to bed, Frodo.” he says quietly.

I nod and follow where he leads. He tucks me in as if I were a child and blesses me with a chaste kiss on the forehead. Then he quickly rounds the foot of the bed and climbs up in beside me.

We lie silently, side by side, as the tranquil murmur of the rain surrounds us and the minutes slowly fade one into the other. Casually, I slip my hand into Sam's and his fingers instantly curl around mine. Together, we wait for the endless night to pass. As we have waited so many times before, in so many different places...

_... huddled, wet and shivering high on a mountain ledge..._

_... blind and helpless in the Mines of Moria..._

The sky has brightened to a deeper shade of grey; dawn cannot be too far from us now. And though my room is still wrapped in shadow, I can clearly see Sam's face when he turns to me and smiles.

“I should have known,” he chuckles softly. “The Gaffer's bones are never wrong. It's plain there'll be no planting of those seedlings done this morning, nor any weeding either in this downpour.”

“It would appear that my gardener gets to lie abed,” I say softly.

“Which he was already quite happily doing 'til you went and dropped yourself out on your head,” Sam teases.

In spite of myself, I laugh. Sam's eyes crinkle at the corners in reply. As his arms open to receive me, I scoot over the few necessary inches to nestle in his embrace.

“Poor Sam,” I sympathize. “It seems your work is never done.”

“Don't you go calling yourself work now, Mr. Frodo.” Sam says sternly.

There is nothing at all chaste about his kiss when he kisses me this time. His mouth moulds itself to my lips, his tongue wetly duels with mine.

This time, my moan is filled with yearning. This time, my desperation has another source.

“Sam,” I whimper, and he whimpers in reply, swiftly rolling us so that I lay atop of him, my aching flesh pressed hard against his.

The whisper of the rain is masked by our soft cries of pleasure. The scent of earth and sunshine lingers on Sam's skin. His hands melt me, reshape me. I feel myself blossom in his tender care.

And this too is familiar, as familiar as the comfort of his arms. I remember other mornings, other couplings.

_... leisurely hours spent on a grassy bank beside The Water..._

_... furtive lovemaking, on beds of stone, in those few moments of lucidity the Ring granted me..._

Sam captures my head between his hands, and tilts my face to meet his steady gaze.

“Where are you, Frodo-love?” he murmurs. “Stay with me.”

“I'm here, Sam.” I lean forward and capture his lips, press myself harder against him and let the moment take me. _Home. I am home._ But, then, I always have been. Whenever I'm in Sam's arms, wherever we may be, that is home to me.

Sticky and sated, we cuddle close together, my head resting on Sam's chest, his hand cradling my rump, my knee firmly wedged between his thighs. The rhythm of his heartbeat tempts me back to slumber and I do not intend to fight its call. Sam already has succumbed to his dreamworld. A tender smile lingers on his slightly parted lips, and the beginnings of a snore serenade me. He doesn't stir as I stretch to kiss the upturned corner of his mouth, and I carefully nestle back down and close my eyes.

I hear the curtains billow as the breeze dances in the window. The tempo of the rain is growing stronger, wilder. This storm will not soon end.

Bed is a lovely place to be today.


End file.
